Measured In Moments
by BloodyEccentrik
Summary: Dean Smith has just received some life altering news and seeks oblivion in a bottle and meets Castiel Milton while tying to numb his pain.  Destiel slash. My summary is crappy but maybe the story won't be ;
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Reviews are loved!  
Warnings: Here be the warnings…angst, slash, drug use and completely lacking in beta-ing.**

"…_tumor….meningioma…relatively benign…radiation therapy…."_

Dean Smith sat in his office at Sandover, replaying the doctor's words over and over again, wondering how it was possible that he had a brain tumor. According to the neurology clinic, it was likely that Dean had had this tumor for years, slowly growing in the vulnerable grey matter that composed his brain, patiently lying in wait. Beneath the stunned disbelief was a bitter sense of having been betrayed by his own body. All the hours spent at the gym, choosing a salad with no dressing over the succulent temptation of a double bacon cheeseburger, the protein shakes, the cleanses and in the end it had all been for nothing.

"Ellen, please cancel my meetings for the rest of the afternoon," he said into the phone, feeling proud at the steadiness in his voice.

"Um, sure, Dean, but-"

"I know, Ellen, but um, I've got a family emergency."

Ellen probably knew that he was full of shit but she went along with it, probably happy to have a valid reason to give to Zachariah Adler for Dean's absence from one of his oh so important meetings.

After packing up his laptop, Dean grabbed his suit coat from the small closet and locked his office door intent on ignoring the migraine that was beginning to gather steam. Dean did not acknowledge his assistants concerned gaze instead offering her a distracted smile and a wave.

"Have a good night, Ellen, and feel free to take the rest of the afternoon off."

Ellen just nodded, her eyes following his progress through the cubicle maze until his disappeared.

Once inside is ridiculously expensive silver sports car, Dean popped the top of a prescription pill bottle and poured two tablets into his hands. In all his life he'd never been dependent on any kind of pain reliving medication beyond a simple Tylenol and now he was looking at the percodan in his hand like they had become his own personal Jesus. _Fuck. _Pushing away the troubling thought, he quickly uncapped his ever present bottle of water and swallowed the pills.

Dean wasn't sure what to do now that he'd left the office behind and found himself driving aimlessly around the city streets as the sharp edge of his headache began to numb with the absorption of the narcotic painkillers into his bloodstream. Initially he had wanted to go home and begin planning the next or possibly last few months of his life, organize his appointments, decide how to put his career on hold, and most importantly, how not to let his sister find out about his abrupt decline in health. Now he found himself wanting to put it off, prolong making any life altering decisions or perhaps not making them at all. What did it matter really? The tumor would probably kill him and it wasn't like he had a child to worry about. No it was just him, his sterile IKEA showroom apartment, and his embarrassingly shiny sports car. Of course, there was his baby sister, the last of his family and he felt his chest tighten at the thought of her being the last surviving member of their family. It wasn't fair to her, she had suffered so much when their parents had died in the house fire four years ago, and now she was going to be suffering again. Dean would give anything to spare her that pain, which was why he didn't want to put her through the agony of seeing his eventual downward spiral and found himself thanking the universe that she had found herself a wonderful husband who could help see her through her pain.

"_Mr. Smith, I strongly advise against putting off the radiation for even a few days," Dr. Couldwell stated, calling him Mr. Smith even though he had insisted to the man that he preferred being called Dean. The doctor had just given him a practical death sentence and he didn't even have the decency to respect this smallest of requests from his patient. Douche._

"_Look, Doc, I've got things that I need to take care of. I have to…" Dean trailed off, knowing on some level that he was just afraid and wanted to put off the cell destroying treatment for just a little while._

"_I understand that you have had quite a shock," jeez, ya think, "but the sooner we begin-"_

"_Are you telling me that if I start the treatment today, that I have a greater chance of living?" Dean interrupted. _

_The doctor just looked at him, pity warring with frustration in his pale brown eyes._

"_Right, so I'll make the appointment for two weeks from today."_

The doctor had made one more attempt at protestation but it was a token at best. The fact was that there was just no way of knowing the prognosis. No calculations that could tilt the balance to one side or another.

Dean caught site of a small bar on the corner of Treetop and Vine and impulsively pulled over to the empty spot beside it. Despite the warnings on the side of the medicine bottle strongly advising against drinking alcohol with the medication, Dean couldn't imagine wanting anything more than emptying a bottle of Jameson.

Before exiting the car, Dean pulled out his phone and quickly shot off an emailing, apologizing for missing the meeting and asking if he could please have the rest of the week off to deal with a family issue. After the appropriate amount of typewritten groveling, he pushed send and then turned off his phone deciding that his own company was all he could stand for the evening.

After securing the alarm on his car, Dean walked the few feet to the door and pushed inside, welcoming the cool air and acrid smell of beer that washed over him. Ignoring the lone patron sitting at the bar, Dean slid onto one of the empty stools and signaled to the bartender, a gruff looking middle aged man sporting a slight beer belly and a trucker cap that had seen better days.

The men let out an irritated sigh (had Dean interpreted the open sight too broadly?) and raised a scraggly brow in Dean's direction, "Yeah?"

Customer service clearly not the man's bailiwick, check and double check.

"Jameson, bottle if you wouldn't mind," Dean answered efficiently, assuming that the man wasn't in the mood for extraneous niceties.

If possible the man's brow actually disappeared into the brim of his hat but he kept whatever opinions to himself and pulled the bottle from the shelf behind him.

"Ya want a glass with that or are you gonna just drink it straight from bottle?"

A glass appeared next to the bottle of whiskey without the bartender waiting for a reply, other than to take the credit card Dean had pulled from his wallet and held loosely between his fingers.

With a silent apology to this body for the hangover waiting to happen, he twisted off the top of the bottle and poured himself a hefty portion of the liquor into the glass, raising it in a silent toast to the brain tumor that had brought him to this hole in the wall.

Dean had just tipped the glass to his lips when the heretofore ignored bar patron spoke.

"Celebrating?"

As the whiskey burned a path down his throat, the deep voice burned a trail of warmth straight down his spine.

The whiskey pooled pleasantly in his empty stomach and seemed to spread through his veins, likely in search of the demon narcotic in order to really start the party, as Dean turned to towards the voice, hoping that it was dark enough to cover the flush that stole across his pale cheeks at the sight of the man sitting only a barstool away.

"Not even close, but it's as good an excuse as any I suppose," Dean finally responded, wondering at the whisper of shyness that colored his words. Dean Smith had never been shy a day in his life, it just wasn't a part of his programming, or at least it hadn't been until just this moment.

"Hmmm," the man sounded as he took a drink from his own glass.

Dean couldn't seem to take his eyes off the guy, and was completely mystified by his reaction. He wasn't so completely ignorant of his own physical reactions not to know that he found the other man attractive, gorgeous actually, but this would be the first time in his thirty plus years that he had ever experienced sexual attraction to a member of his own team. It seemed to Dean that this should probably cause him a little discomfort, but for some reason, probably the combination of controlled substance and Irish whiskey, or even possibly the fact that he might be dying, he was just going to roll with it. And seriously, those eyes were just too blue and soul deep to resist.

"I was about to go sit in one of the booths back there and destroy this bottle, any interest in joining me?" Dean asked, surprising himself with such a bold come on. Dean didn't pursue, Dean was pursued and really not even that much these days since he was so career oriented, spending at least sixteen hours a day in his office.

The other man's full lips tilted slightly on one side and his eyes narrowed before nodding at Dean.

"Definitely interested."


	2. Chapter 2

Measured In Moments Part 1  
Rating: R  
Word Count: 1500 approx for this part  
Warnings: Drug use, angst  
Summary: (AU) Dean Smith has just been diagnosed with a brain tumor and while visiting a bar in an attempt to forget his problems, he meets Castiel Milton.

"_I have cancer?" Dean asked stunned, staring blankly at the doctor sitting across from him, unable to comprehend what he was being told. It was just a couple of nagging headaches it was supposed to be serious._

"_No, I can assure you that you do not have cancer. The tumor is relatively benign-"_

"_So what are we talking about, a routine surgery to remove the tumor, maybe an overnight stay in the hospital and I'm good as new?" Dean interrupted, unable to quash the weak pulse of hope._

_The doctor leveled him with what should have been compassion but was clearly only the face of a man who had given this same news to hundreds of other patients and had ceased to truly see them as people anymore. Dean was just another notch on his scalpel._

"_Mr. Smith, while your tumor may not be malignant, it is still…problematic."_

"_Of course," Dean responded softly, feeling the fledgling hope sputter and die._

"So, you have any interest in exchanging names," the blue eyed man asked as they slid into a shadowed booth in the back of the bar, a smirk firmly planted on his face.

"Um, yeah, sorry about that, man. I'm Dean Smith the man who is going to get you absolutely smashed," Dean said matching the other man's smirk and holding his hand out.

"Castiel Milton."

Castiel held his hand out, lining up their palms, his slender fingers wrapping firmly around Dean's sending a shot of electricity up his arm.

"So how about you pour me a glass," Castiel said, his voice low and whiskey rough, pinning Dean with blue eyes dancing with mirth and something else that Dean couldn't quite decipher.

Dean poured a healthy measure of whiskey into his glass and slid it across the table to Castiel while filling his own and just like that, it was on.

There was an insistent buzzing in Dean's ears and he grabbed a pillow from the side of the bed placing it over his aching head in a futile attempt to block the noise out. It may have worked too if it the fucking buzzing wasn't alternating with the sound of his disgustingly cheerful sounding doorbell. After it became clear that his evasion tactics were futile when confronted by the persistence of his visitor and phone stalker, Dean tossed the pillow aside and began to disentangle himself from the sheets. After what seemed like hours but was more like a minute or two, the sheets were finally pushed aside and he was freed from the bed, intent on murdering whoever was ringing his doorbell and blowing up his phone.

After roughly pulling on a pair of plaid pajama pants he had retrieved from a drawer in the cherry wood armoire in his room, Dean stumbled down the hall wondering if he was still drunk when the smell of coffee hit him like manna from heaven. Knowing that there was coffee somewhere in his apartment renewed his motivation to deck the asshole at his front door.

"What!" Dean barked as he pulled the front door open.

"Jesus, Dean, the fuck!"

Dean's eyes widened when his rational thoughts had caught up with his temper.

"Uh, sorry, Jo," Dean murmured still working on pushing down his ire. He loved his sister more than anything but seriously, Dean had never been fond of unannounced visitors especially when they woke him up after a long night of over imbibing.

"You should be, jerk," Jo bitched, not even slightly appeased by his weak apology. "Now do you mind letting me in."

Dean hesitated for a moment as he looked behind him remembering the smell of fresh coffee and wondering if that meant…

"Really, Dean?" Jo snarked, barging past him into the apartment, clearly offended that Dean would hesitate to let her in.

Dean closed the door behind her, trying to figure out why her presence in his home made him uneasy.

"So what brings you by so bright and early in the morning, Joanna Beth?"

Dean moved past her, farther into the room and plopped on his expensive couch, vaguely wondering why comfort didn't seem to be a prerequisite for pricey.

Jo dropped gracefully into the chair across from him, rubbing her hands over her thighs as if trying to clean something off her hands. It was a nervous habit that she'd had her entire life, one that let Dean know that she was worried.

"It's not exactly early, Dean, more like almost lunch." She said, her tone softening. "As to why I'm here, I talked to Patrick while on a break and he told me that he had called your office to schedule a lunch and was told by Ellen that you were out of work for the next week. Since you never take time off of work, I immediately freaked the fuck out and came rushing over here to find out what if you were ok."

Dean saw the genuine concern in her hazel eyes and felt like the biggest dick ever. Jo's instincts were spot on, he had been a perfect employee during his entire career at Sandover. He never took vacation time, went into work when he was sick and worked during holidays. In the entire time he'd been there, he had worked nearly every day except the occasional Sunday, sixty sometimes seventy hours a week.

"I'm fine, little sister," Dean said, trying to reassure his sister while drowning in guilt for having to lie to her.

"Are you sure?" Jo asked, looking him straight in the eyes.

"_Yes_," Dean said emphatically, reaching over to grab her hand in both of his. "I was just beginning to feel a little burnt out and decided to take the pro active approach. A little time off and I'll be back at work and raring to go. Now, I think you had better get back to work, it's not like the hospital can function without its best nurse, right?"

Before Jo could form a response she was distracted by something in the general direction of the kitchen. Seeing his sister struck speechless Dean followed the path of her gaze and saw Castiel emerge from the kitchen shirtless, his worn jeans hanging low on his hips and carrying a tray with two coffee mugs along with sweetener and creamer.

"I made coffee," Castiel said unnecessarily, as he placed the tray on the coffee table, flashing a warm half smile at Jo and throwing Dean a wink, before walking back towards the kitchen.

The Smith siblings watched Castiel's retreat with matching looks of wonder but for different reasons.

"Dean?" Jo questioned, looking back to her brother, her expression clearly telling Dean that she wanted an explanation.

Dean was still looking towards the kitchen door where Castiel had disappeared, his emotions in chaos. All at once the whiskey soaked memories of the night before began to swirl around in his head, matching shot for shot, a cab ride soaked in sexual tension, the warmth of another body searing itself into his.

_Dean grabbed hold of the other man's red cashmere scarf, pushing him against the closed apartment door, slanting his lips against those of the other man, feeling himself dive into sensations that were all too new and overwhelmingly intoxicating._

"_Cas," he whispered, dragging his lips away from the other man's temptingly moist mouth, trailing kisses down the side of his face, losing himself in the smell of bergamot and cinnamon. "I need…" _

_Dean was unable to finish his words because he wasn't even sure what he wanted to say only knowing that he wanted this man, wanted his fire, his irreverence, his everything. Head swimming with the effects of whiskey and desire, he found himself on his knees before Castiel, hands spread wide on the man's thighs where they joined with his hips, wanting to touch him but afraid at the same time._

"_Dean, it's ok," Castiel whispered his husky voice whiskey rough and dripping with sex. "Whatever you need, whatever you want…"_

_Dean's green eyes were caught by the intensity of the blue eyes above him forcing him to look away before he became lost in them forever…._

TBC….


	3. Chapter 3

"Dean? _Dean!_"

Dean was pulled from his reverie by the sound of Jo's insistent tone which clearly indicated her annoyance with his inattention to her.

"What, Jo?" He asked quietly, still trying to determine if his recollection of a certain event the previous night, or possibly morning because the last time Dean had remembered checking the clock it had been around seven pm.

"Are you going to explain what is going on? Because I gotta tell you, big brother, the hot man with the gigantic hickey on his hip that just walked in here, is not something I expect to see when I stop by at almost noon on a Tuesday."

Dean felt a surge of fierce possessiveness come over him at the thought of Castiel bearing his mark and found that he was strangely unwilling to share the other man. Not even with his sister.

"No, Jo, I am not going to explain," he stated calmly, picking up the hot coffee and taking a sip, refusing to look up at the sound of his sister's irritated huff.

Silence stretched out between them as Dean sipped his coffee and stared out the window, until his sister seemed to give up.

"Fine. I'd better get back to work." Dean felt bad, hearing the hurt in Jo's voice but was resolved to keep to his own counsel.

Dean heaved his aching body from the couch a slit second after Jo abandoned the chair and reached out for her hand as she attempted to move past him.

"I'm sorry, Jo, I'm not trying to be a dick-"

"You never do." She muttered.

"-I want to talk to you but just need some space…"

"I get it, Dean, I do," she replied, her hazel eyes shimmering with moisture, as she gently tugged her hand from his loose grip. "I'll see ya later."

Dean watched his sister walk out of the living room, hearing the quiet snick of the front door as it closed behind her feeling like the biggest jackhole living, unable to do anything but stand there sipping his coffee.

The sound of a throat clearing pulled his attention back to the kitchen entry to see Castiel leaning on the wall, a sweet smile on his face. "I apologize if I caused you any problems."

Despite the residual tension left over from his sister's visit, Dean was unable to keep an answering smile from his face.

"You didn't, Cas." As he spoke, Dean rested his ass on the arm of the couch, his hangover coming back in full force now that the irritation began to fade. "And thanks for the coffee."

Castiel pushed away from the door jam and made his way over to Dean, stopping only once he'd insinuated himself between Dean's legs, resting his hands on his arms just above the elbows.

"It was the least that I could do after last night and speaking of which," he said teasingly, "do you even remember any of that?"

"Some," Dean whispered, his gaze alternating between the man's plump lips and his intense gaze, feeling heat begin to flood his body, battling the hangover for dominance.

"Hmmm, which parts I wonder…."

Castiel raised a hand up to Dean's face, trailing his fingertips down the side of his face, a trail of tingling awareness spreading in their wake causing Dean to force back a gasp at the contact.

"The moment you dropped to your knees in front of me taking me taking my cock between your sexy lips…"

As Castiel's voice washed over him, in deep dark chocolate waves, Dean struggled to maintain his composure, unsure if he had the right to press into him.

"…or perhaps it was that moment just as I was about to come and you ended up passing out on me."

It took a good thirty seconds for Castiel's words to soak in but once they did, Dean felt the coldness of humiliation chase away the building desire.

"No…" he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut, his body tense. "Please tell me that is your idea of some cruel joke."

"Sorry, Dean," Castiel chuckled softly running a firm hand through Dean's sandy hair. "I only speak the truth and as painful as it is for you to hear it, it was even more painful for me to experience it."

Castiel finally moved out of Dean's personal space, taking the last remnants of warmth with him.

Dean stood and followed Castiel as he walked towards the bedroom, mimicking Castiel's pose in the doorway watching as Castiel collected his shirt and jacket, covering up the succulent flesh of his chest.

"Any other person would have bolted the second some douche passed out on them before the finale. Why'd you stay?"

Castiel's head reappeared through the opening of his t-shirt, his easy smile firmly in place, an eyebrow quirked.

"Are you upset that I stay?" he asked lightly.

"No," Dean answered immediately, "it's just…you know."

Castiel nodded, pulling on his tweed blazer, wrapping that amazingly soft scarf around his neck and pulling on his worn leather shoes.

"Probably," he agreed moving over to where Dean stood in the doorway, pressing his lips to Dean's in a chaste kiss.

"I have to go, I have rehearsal," Castiel said quietly, one hand pulling a small rectangle from the pocket of his blazer and pressing it into Dean's hand.

"You should call me," he suggested.

Dean looked down at the card in his hand before looking back to Castiel's eyes, nodding slowly.

"Goodbye, Dean."

Once Dean heard the front door close, Dean sagged, no longer needing to hide the effects of the migraine gaining power behind his eyes. Taking a deep breath Dean walked to the kitchen and swallowed down two painkillers with his long cold coffee.

The card containing Castiel's contact information had crumpled in his tight grasp but Dean was careful to place it on the counter, smoothing out the creases as he reached for his phone where he entered the number for later. Passing by the new entry for Castiel, Dean found another number and pressed send.

The other end of he line connected after two rings.

"_Wesson."_

"It's Dean. I need you to come over here right now, Sammy."

"_Don't call me 'Sammy' and I don't know if you know this or not but it's the middle of a work day and I can't just jump the train to Sandover whenever you want me to look at your laptop. I am no longer your IT guy, Dean."_

"I know, I know," Dean said impatiently, nearly shouting into his iPhone. "I don't have a problem with my laptop. I need your other professional services."

There was a brief pause and then.

"_I'll be there around five, is that okay?"_

Dean nodded and then remembered that he was on the phone. "Um, yeah but please don't be late. I…"

"_Right," Sam said, "I'll see you then."_

Dean nodded again, ending his call and leaning against the counter waiting for the pills to take effect.

**A/N: Sorry for the shortness but the next part is going to be bigger if that helps….also, my most sincere thanks for all the alerts and the reviews, they make me want to please you!**


	4. Chapter 4

Measured In Moments Part 1  
Rating: R  
Word Count: 2626 approx for this part  
Warnings: Drug use, angst  
Summary: (AU) Dean Smith has just been diagnosed with a brain tumor and while visiting a bar in an attempt to forget his problems, he meets Castiel Milton.  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything or anyone, I simply worship Kripke.  
A/N: As usual its un-beta'd, and I'm so sorry about that...and yeah.

After disconnecting with Sam, Dean decided that it was time to go back to bed hoping that maybe some additional sleep on top of the pain pill would halt the escalation of his soon to be full blown migraine. As he waited for sleep to claim him, he was unable to stop himself from thinking about Castiel.

_The whiskey was flowing freely between them and at some point Castiel had ordered food, garlic cheese bread and deep fried mushrooms. Dean had made a token objection because that was so not on the Dean Smith list of Approved Foods, or even in the orbit of said list, but then he remembered the tumor and decided his list could fuck off. Who gives a shit about carbs and fat grams when they are staring down death?_

"_Since you obviously do not want to tell me what kind of occasion you, and now we, may or may not be celebrating how about gifting your new friend with a few tidbits about yourself. Such as your preferred guilty pleasure, music genre…kink…"_

_Dean quirked a brow at the other man, trying to remind himself that it's the height of bad manners to jump the hot bodies of unsuspecting strangers. "Friend?"_

_Castiel nodded lazily. "Sounds better than awkward strangers sharing a bottle of booze and drowning in unspoken sexual tension, doesn't it?"_

"_I find myself unable to counter such sound logic."_

_The two men raised their glasses offering a silent cheers to their new found friendship, a friendship that Dean hoped would soon turn into a nasty sex romp in his California king. _

"_Dr. Sexy M.D., indie and wandering around my apartment naked with the windows open."_

_Castiel seemed impressed. "I knew you were full of kinks the second I saw you walk through the doors. I like it."_

"_Hm…didn't know that indie music was considered a kink." Dean replied dryly._

_Castiel picked up a fork and speared one of the fried mushrooms and smirked before popping the appetizer in his grinning mouth._

"_You really should try this," he said after swallowing._

_Dean eyed the fried dish skeptically. "So it's just mushrooms deep fried in batter? I'm not sure I see the appeal."_

_Castiel nodded, "Yes essentially, however, Karen Singer does something with spices or I don't know what but it makes these mushrooms amazing."_

_Dean remembered that he was telling his diet to die a painful death so in the spirit of living dangerously, he picked up his own fork and sampled mushrooms._

"_Jesus fuck, man! This is amazing!"_

_A part of Dean wondered if he would ever be able to go back to eating salads and fish now that he's spent time on the dark side of food, and then he remembered. As he watched Castiel talking animatedly, Dean tried to force himself to stay in the moment and not lose himself in thoughts of tumors and radiation, dying or possibly something worse._

For the second time that day, Dean was woken up by the sound of someone laying on his doorbell.

Swinging his legs over the side of his bed, Dean took a moment to ascertain his physical status. To his relief, his migraine seemed downgraded to a mild headache. Lifting himself from the bed, Dean grabbed a t-shirt from the chair, pulling it over his head as he walked out of the bedroom to the front door.

After checking the peephole, Dean pulled the door open wide to admit Sam Wesson into his apartment.

"Dean! Did it cross your mind at all when we were on the phone, to inform me that you were going to be at home and not the office?"

Dean closed and locked the door behind Sam, ignoring the other man's outburst.

"Wanna beer?"

Irritation was evident on the other man's face but it quickly faded at the thought of a beer. Sam could be a big assed baby at times but it never lasted long.

"Sure, man."

After grabbing two beers from the fridge, beers he kept only for special occasions, Dean walked to the living room where the giant puppy was sprawled across his sofa, passing the cold bottle off to Sam and settling himself in the chair Jo had been sitting in earlier that day.

Staring at his friend across his living room, Dean was suddenly stricken with a case of nerves and his brain froze on the last thing he'd been thinking.

"So, I'm gay." Dean blurted out, immediately regretting it and wishing he could take it back.

Sam finished swallowing his mouthful of beer and then leveled Dean with a questioning stare.

"And?"

"And?" Dean yelled. "What do you mean by that?"

Sam shook his head, confusion obvious in his hazel eyes.

"Ok, you lost me, Dean. Am I supposed to say something here?"

"Dude, I just told you I was _gay_ and all you say is 'and'. This is like huge!"

Sam was still looking confused which made Dean even more agitated. Unable to sit still any longer, he launched himself from the chair and began pacing.

"Dean, it's not like I didn't know that already."

Dean stopped pacing, fixing Sam with a hard stare. "You _knew_? How the hell did you _know_? I didn't even know. In fact, I'm not even sure that I know right now!"

Sam stood from the couch and walked over to Dean, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Calm down, man. You look like you're about to have a freakin' heart attack."

Dean huffed. "Don't try and calm me down. I've just had the weirdest twenty four hours of my life and you are now telling me that you have always known I was gay. You need to explain that to me."

Sam walked back over to the couch and lowered himself to the edge, a sheepish expression on his face.

"I guess I haven't always _known_, I just assumed," he said slowly as if afraid he would set off another round of histrionics.

"You assumed….but Sam, we've _double dated_ before. With chicks!"

Sam shot Dean a patented bitchface. "If you recall, that double date happened because I blackmailed you into it. Ruby would only go out with me if I got you to go out with Meg and you refused. A lot."

"Oh yeah. I'm still pissed off about that by the way. It's none of Sandover's business if I play Fluffy Birds on my work computer during the one lunch I take a month."

"My point is," Sam continued, "that I have never known you to be in any kind of serious relationship with a woman."

Dean returned to the chair, his posture unconsciously mimicking that of Sam on the couch, and took a few deep draughts from his beer.

"What about Lisa?" Dean asked finally.

Sam rolled his eyes. "I suppose if your definition of a serious relationship is two lunch dates, than yeah that counts."

"Really, Sam, sarcasm? It's beneath you."

Realizing that his beer bottle was now empty, Sam walked to the kitchen and returned with the rest of the six pack, opening one for himself and Dean.

"I guess I've never really thought too much about my sexuality," Dean mused, "I just assumed that I like girls because I'm a dude."

"Repressed much?" Sam asked in astonishment. "You never once looked at another guy and wondered what it would be like to have sex with them? Are you even human?"

"Hey! I'm human! I just never had the time. I spent my high school years working towards college scholarships, my college years working to maintain those scholarships and interning, and in the years following that, I've been focused on my career."

Saying it out loud made Dean realize just how many years he had let slip by without having noticed. The lack of personal relationships in his life had never been so vividly clear before and he realized just how lonely he was. If it wasn't for Jo and even Sam to a certain extent, he would have no one. Looking up at Sam, Dean could see that his expression had morphed into one of pity and that was just not acceptable.

"And Ruby's a bitch, by the way," Dean stated spitefully.

The pity was wiped from the other man's face before Dean had even completed his statement.

"I'm quite aware of your opinion on my fiancée, asshole. Now what's with the true confessions anyway? I mean, I'm glad you seem to have reached some personal epiphany on penises versus vaginas but what exactly does this have to do with me-wait….Dean, are you…are you trying to tell me that…are you in love with me?"

It took a moment for Sam's words to register in Dean's damaged brain and when they did, the mouthful of beer he'd been about to swallow veered off track and ended up spewing from his mouth.

"What?" he managed to gasp between fits of coughing.

"Hey, man, its okay, you shouldn't feel embarrassed. You are a handsome guy and if I was gay at all I would be willing to explore a relationship but one thing I learned from the few times I experimented in college-"

"Jesus fuck, Sam, shut up!"

Dean's outburst effectively stopped Sam's attempt to let him down easy.

"There's no need to be a dick about it, Dean," Sam huffed.

Using the hem of his t-shirt as a towel, Dean wiped the abused beer off of his face wondering how this conversation had derailed so cataclysmically.

"I'm _not _in love with you, Sam, I still haven't even decided if I like you as a friend." Dean stated emphatically. "However, I do appreciate your girly attempt at a nice rejection of my imagined affections."

Sam nodded slowly looking unsure. "Um, okay then so what's with the big, yet completely unnecessary, 'coming out' statement?"

Dean finished off his second beer and told Sam about meeting Castiel, what little he could remember, including his cringe inducing attempt at an aborted blow job.

"Dean, have we really reached the stage in our relationship where we share details of our sex lives? Just a minute ago you told me you still were not sure we were even friends despite the last five years of hanging out, and you being the best man at my upcoming wedding."

Dean could see from the look on Sam's face and knew that if he didn't smooth over the hurt feelings of his ginormous friend, he would be severely punished. If not with Sam's puppy dog eyes than with Ruby calling to screech at him for making Sam pout. Besides, from the moment on the Sandover elevator where they had first met, there was a connection between them, a feeling of meeting someone you feel should have been in your life since the beginning and didn't know you were missing until they showed up. Even when Sam had left the company to pursue his career as an attorney they had remained close which Dean was grateful for every day, not that he'd ever tell Sam of course.

"I didn't mean it, Sammy-"

"_Sam."_

"-you are my best friend forever, I swear on Ruby's godforsaken existence."

Sam sighed but accepted the half assed apology as Dean knew that he would. "I'm actually impressed that this guy didn't step on your balls as he walked out the door. It's clear that he's a much better person than you."

Dean flipped him the good ole fashion bird but kept his mouth shut, this was how they had operated for the last five years; Dean harassed Sam to the point of an emotional breakdown and then would end up feeling bad and let Sam get his digs in where he could. Juvenile? Yes, but what are ya gonna do?

"Are you going to see him again? Because I think you owe him," Sam said, shooting Dean gimlet eyes.

"I'm almost certain that he wouldn't want to see me again."

Sam laughed. "Are you a complete idiot? If he wasn't interested than he wouldn't have stayed the night. Call him, Dean. You never know, he might be The One."

Dean couldn't help but smile at his friend. "You are such a romantic, Sammy, no wonder Ruby was able to get her claws into you so easily."

"One day, you and Ruby are going to have to work through your issues," Sam said tiredly.

"If she would apologize to me for Meg than I might consider a Friends and Lovers of Sam Summit. Until then, we are at an impasse."

Dean sat back smugly, hoping that he had diverted Sam from further pondering the future of Dean and Castiel.

"How about we stop talking about Ruby, huh? And you tell me what your new found homosexuality has to do with my 'professional services'."

Unknowingly, Sam had turned the conversation back to the original issue that Dean had been trying to avoid.

"Before I say anything, I need to ensure that whatever I say to you is kept in strictest of confidence."

Sam began to laugh thinking, no doubt, that Dean was just being melodramatic but his merriment faded at the look on Dean's face.

"You're serious? You're serious! Dean what did you do?" Sam was beginning to look vaguely alarmed.

"I didn't do anything! Jeez, Sammy, just tell me how much money I have to give you to make you my bitch already."

Sam thought for a moment and then gave Dean a figure.

"What! Who the fuck do you think you are, Gloria Allred?" Dean exclaimed in shock.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Really, Dean? What would you consider to be a reasonable fee for an attorney?"

"Since we are supposed to be friends I figured when I asked to hire you and give you a retainer, you would charge me like a dollar as a formality."

"Jesus, man, I can't pay off my student loan with a dollar. Do you have any idea how much law school is?"

Dean glared at Sam while the other man laughed. "Can you bill me, bitch?"

"Sure," Sam agreed, his laughter trailing off. "Now tell me why you need my legal services? Did you run down an elderly person at a crosswalk? I can't say I'm surprised, you drive like shit and should not be allowed to own such a sweet-"

"Sam."

The tension that settled over Sam's shoulders was visible making Dean regret the necessity of damaging the lighthearted mood they had established. Maybe if he were less of a selfish bastard he would have called some anonymous ambulance chaser from the internet to help him, rather than laying this burden on his only friend.

"Whatever it is, Dean, we'll figure it out," Sam said quietly, his hazel eyes brimming with determination, his massive hand reaching out hesitantly to pat Dean on his knee. Sam's awkward attempt to comfort him caused a strange tightening in Dean's throat.

"I need you to help me create a will."

Sam just stared at him for a moment, a line forming between his dark brows.

"As in Last Will and Testament," he stated, seemingly feeling the need to clarify it more to himself than Dean.

Dean nodded unnecessarily, unable to look at Sam any longer.

"This is just routine, right? Did Sandover have an employee meeting about 401k's and life insurance?"

Looking up at Sam again, Dean tried for a smile but failed by a mile.

"I've been having these headaches-"

"Not funny, dude! I can't believe you'd joke about something like that!"

Sam looked away from Dean, grabbing up another beer bottle and twisting off the cap.

"Sam-"

"For real, man, you have a sick sense of hu-"

"Sam, stop!" Dean said wearily. "I have a brain tumor."


End file.
